Living Well Is the Best Revenge

She has a great personality.

Oh, she hears the whispers as they pass by. She secretly spies Ken and the boys giggle like schoolgirls, or perhaps she overhears the hushed kiss of death.

"She has a great personality, though."

Oh, she hears them. Barbie has a beach house. Skipper has a townhome in Hoboken.

Barbie got a pink Corvette for her 21st birthday. Skipper was making payments on a 1999 Corolla.

After saving for a year for their vacation to sunny Malibu, Skipper got skin cancer. Barbie got an unbelievable tan and an egagement ring from Ken.

While Barbie was whoring her way through school so that she could be an astronaut, an attorney, a veterinarian, a nurse and a doctor, Skipper waited tables in a smoky beer joint and got her degree in English so that she could eventually get a job as a secretary in an insurance agency.

When Barbie got married to the blonde, blue-eyed volleyball athlete, Ken, Skipper was still waiting for red-headed and hot-tempered Ricky to get a feel under her mohair sweater.

And through it all, Skipper remained patient, knowing that she was smart and street-wise. Barbie couldn't think herself out of a wet Burger King bag. Or a greasy McDonald's bag. Or a soggy Slurpee cup.

Yes, she was patient because she was Barbie's little sister, and she knew all of the family's secrets. She watched as Barbie stockpiled napkins from Dairy Queen, and she witnessed her hour-long trips to the restroom, and she could hear the secret wretching echoing in the porcelain bowl.

And Skipper knew Barbie's own vanity would be her secret weapon.

"Skipper, do you think my ass looks fat in these designer jeans?"

"Oh well, Barbie. I know my ass would never fit in them, and if your ass looks extraordinarily fat and like a trash bag full of strawberry Jell-O, then it must be the jeans."

By her wedding, Barbie could barely stand the smell of own buttercream-iced wedding cake.

She began to waste away. And yet Skipper remained bold.

"Does my ass look big in this napkin ring?"

"Did you have cottage cheese for lunch?"

Barbie's obsession worsened. By the time Skipper had married Ricky who had since made his fortune as a real estate developer, Barbie was a cokewhore, speeding the final pounds away.

Skipper and Barbie checked into the Beverly Hills hospital at the same time -- Barbie from malnourishment, Skipper for the most amazing plastic surgery ever conducted on one human.

In the recovery room, Skipper painfully slipped from her bed, careful not to rip the stitches, and pulled the plate of chili cheese fries from the nightstand drawer. Barbie looked so peaceful as her finally-gaunt chest rose and fell.

"Barbie, are you hungry?"

"Oh Skipper, so hungry but I don't have the energy to lift my fingers down my throat."

"Here. Let me help."

Skipper carefully fed Barbie the plate of chili cheese fries. Barbie ate so ravenously, chili splattered across the hospital-white pillowcases.

"Thank you, Skipper. Tell me. Does my ass look fat in this hospital gown?"

Within minutes, Barbie had died of exertion, tragically trying to wretch the fries from her stomach.

In 21 more days, Skipper emerged from the hospital. From a lifetime of inferiority. From the shadow of that bitch Barbie.

Barbie had always said that Skipper would be cuter if she were skinnier, if her hair were blond... well if she looked like something else. Now, Skipper did.

She's a pretty girl and she has a great personality.

EDITOR'S NOTE: The above story is a work of fiction. It in no way implies that I wish harm upon HotAss. I love him like a sister and no, his ass does NOT look like two sperm whales mating under a rubber tarp.